


Unsafety Pin

by Blue_Thallium (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Body Modification, Incest, M/M, Oral Sex, Piercings, Prince Albert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 14:17:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Blue_Thallium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt was "Body Modification".</p><p>Dave tries to pierce his own ear, Bro has to deal with the aftermath, then offers to pierce Dave himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsafety Pin

**Author's Note:**

> I took requests on my tumblr like a month ago, and I'm still working on them.
> 
> [More here :3](http://dorothy-cotton.tumblr.com/tagged/TINY-PORN-REQUESTS)

All the other kids are doing it.

Well, Jade did.

And Jade is kind of crazy. But also pretty cute. And she said she likes piercings. So do you.

It’s win, win really. You get to show off to a girl you’ve been nursing a little crush on since you were ten, and she gets to be impressed by your swag self piercing skills.   
And if she’s not, she’ll at least humour you. And that’ll make you feel like a big man. 

So here you are, standing in front of the mirror, brandishing a safety pin. The sharp tip is pressed to the centre of your earlobe. It’s soft, and fuzzy, and it feels like you should just be able to push the pin right on through – bada bing, bada boom, there’s your piercing.

Except, when you put on a little pressure, it really stings. And because you’re being so tentative about it, all you really do is push on your lobe instead of actually breaking the skin. By the time you’ve spent ten minutes stood in front of the bathroom mirror, all you’ve got is a sore earlobe, red and itchy from all the half assed poking you’ve just put it through.

In a fit of frustration, you shut your eyes and jam the pin through. After a blinding pulse of pain, you curse the air blue and find your fingers bloody.

But hey, the pin’s through, and it’s going to look pretty fucking sweet once the bleeding’s stopped.

Bro bangs through the door a moment later. You swore you’d locked it.

Panicked, he says “What the fuck, little dude?” before he spots your ear. “You fucking moron.” He says. 

Then, he delivers a lecture. Bro’s lectures are rare, but when he gives one, boy do they drag.

Did you even clean your ear first? Sterilise the pin? And seriously, you used a safety pin! For fuck’s sake kid, it ain’t 1978! You could have shattered your damn cartilage, or torn your ear lobe or something. Not to mention infection. Goddamn it, it’s a good thing you scream like a baby or you would have just left that thing in, wouldn’t you! 

This speech goes on repeat for about twenty minutes.

He grabs you by the shoulder and pushes your ass down onto the toilet. He pulls some cotton balls from the medicine cabinet and a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and you allow yourself to pout for a moment as you try and stem your bleeding with a wad of toilet roll.

“Idiot.” He mutters, as he kneels down, and pulls you close toward him. “This is going to sting like a fucking bitch, by the way.” He tells you. He tips a little rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball. Taking off his shades, and with a surprising delicacy and precision, he removes the safety pin from your ear. It does hurt. It’s almost as if the surface of the pin is not as smooth as it had seemed, and as he removes it, each microscopic bump drags and pulls at the wound. Your eyes water again, and you hiss.  
“It gets worse.” He says. He drops the safety pin on the side of the sink, and strips off his gloves before washing his hands with the antiseptic soap you called him a homo for buying.

Bro kneels beside you again (close enough that his breath on your neck makes you shudder) and licks his lips. He pokes your cheek, an indication that you should be looking toward the door, not at him.  
His palms are rough and his fingers are calloused. You shudder when he nudges the back of your ear, pushing into the flesh so it stretches over the pad of his thumb. He sniffs.  
“The rubbing alcohol’s a little cold. But it’s clean and it’s going to get the wound as sterile as we can get it. So try not to bitch about it.” Without much warning, he presses the saturated cotton ball to your ear. 

It goes beyond stinging – it burns. You actually think your ear might be melting and you try and jerk away from Bro. But he holds firm on your ear, determined not to let you take it from him. This makes it hurt worse.   
The whole process is so torturously painful, you’re now pretty sure you qualify as a saint in the eyes of many members of the Catholic church. 

“Mother fucker.” You spit, and Bro shakes his head.

“Serves you right, you moron.” He says. Then he sets about, dabbing the tiny wound till he’s sure it’s clean. The pain numbs a little and goose bumps break out on your skin. You’ve always been sensitive to being touched, and have Bro breathing down your neck and rubbing your ear is making you feel all shuddery. It’s like you’re very cold. Except you’re not.   
“Stop moving.” He mutters, then drops the cotton ball. “That’s as clean as it’s going to get. Do it before you go to bed, and tomorrow morning too. It won’t hurt as much, ‘cause it’ll have scabbed over.” He washes his hands again. “And don’t pick it. You’ll lose that fucking ear lobe, if you’re not careful.”

“Why are you freaking out so much?” You ask. You grab the wet wipes that are permanently stationed by the toilet, and start scrubbing the blood off your neck and fingers. There’s not that much, but some of it’s on your shirt.

“I used to have a lot of piercings.” He sighs. He takes his cap off, and brushes his hair off his ear. “Ever wonder how I tore my ear lobe?”

“When I was 8, you told me you did it sparring.” You say. He shrugs.

“Sort of, I let my friend do with when we were both drunk. He did it in totally the wrong place and it started bleeding real heavy, but I thought, nah, it’ll be fine. So within a week it was looking all gross and infected, so I thought I should go to the doctor. Didn’t get the chance. I snagged it on my sleeve when I was practicing with a sword, and I ripped it out.” He tells you this with added hand gesture, lifting his wrist to his ear and flinging his hand away with force enough that you hear it ‘whoosh’ through the air.

“Ouch.” You say. Bro nods, and slips his gloves back on.

“Yeah. And if I’d have gone to a professional piercer, or let someone sober do it with a proper needle, they wouldn’t have put the jewellery at the ass end of my earlobe, they would have recommended something less likely to snag, and it wouldn’t have been the most painful thing I’d ever experienced if I had torn it out, because it wouldn’t have been so horribly infected.” He grimaces a little at the memory. “That’s also why we only spar in t-shirts, by the way.”

He offers you a stiff drink, and you accept. You like it when you drink together. He leads you into the living room and gets some ice out of the freezer, and a bottle of whisky from the cabinet. You sit at the kitchen table.

You wonder what Bro might have looked like with piercings. You’ve hardly seen any photos of him young.  
You know he used to be slighter – like yourself, really. And in the few pictures you’d seen, he was handsome and clean shaven, the kind of kid you could easily mistake for being a nice, upstanding citizen if you didn’t know he was probably already a regular contributor to a puppet porn magazine by that point.

The piercings would make him look a little edgier though. Hell, maybe that’s why he got them.

“So what happened to your other piercings?” You ask. 

“You did.” Says Bro, snorting. “Seriously, babies and piercings don’t mix well. After the fourth time you pulled my nipple ring in the space of a week, I just thought... Fuck this. And took ‘em out.”

“You could have left some of them in.” You say. He smirks.

“No. You pulled everything. By the time you were old enough to stop grabbing shiny stuff like your life depended on it, pretty much everything had closed up.” You hear the clink of ice in the glass. It crackles and snaps when Bro pours the whisky over it, a little like a breakfast cereal. Bro sits opposite you, and slides your class over, clicking it loosely against his before taking a sip.  
“I did most of them myself, though. If you wanted your ear pierced that bad I could have done it for you,” He says. “I’ve got a bunch of old earrings and they’re all decent metal. And I’ve still got a few unused piercing needles. I never got rid of them. Just in case.” Bro takes another sip of his whisky, and you restrain yourself from making a comment about his blatant hoarding tendencies.

“That sounds... Cool.” You say.

“You want me to do it?”

“Sure!” You say. Bro’s mouth quirks like he’s about to laugh. “I mean, yeah, it’ll be way cheaper if you just do it for me, instead of going to a professional.”

“Cool.” He says.

*

He pierces your other ear, obviously. The lobe you tried to pierce yourself is still sore, and scabbed and weepy.

It’s pretty intimate, actually. You’re sat on the floor, leg stretched out in front of you, and Bro’s knees are either side of your thigh. He sits back on his haunches – thighs stretching the fabric of his jeans, which groan, softly, the way fabric does – and takes a needle from a small, dusty case. He takes a small ring, and a lighter from his pocket, and sets them down on the floor by a packet of cotton balls, and a bottle of antiseptic.

“You ready?” He says. When he speaks quietly, it’s almost as if he doesn’t use him mouth. You can hear his voice rattling around in his chest and his throat. 

“Yup.” 

He nods, and swabs your ear with the antiseptic, placing a hot hand on your jaw, tilting your face for access.

You shudder. It tickles, sort of, in a way that is not unpleasant, and your skin seems to prickle where he touches you. 

“This is gonna hurt. Not as much as your fucking safety pin, but it’ll still hurt,” He murmurs. The shades are removed, then so are yours (because this wasn’t personal enough already) and he moves back on his haunches again. His jeans groan again. He picks up his needle (sharp, and hollow) and cleans it with a fresh cotton ball, then heats it up with the lighter. He is thorough, and careful, and you had forgotten how clever his fingers were.   
You listen to his steady breathing, and let your eyes slide shut, unwittingly trying to synchronise your breaths with his. There is a slight wheeze when he breathes, and the rumble, rattle you hear when he speaks. Though it is more distant. Barely there.

As he moves in toward you, you can smell him. He smells like you, and your home (familiar, comforting) though there is the sharp, masculine smell of his deodorant that sets him out – and the fruity smell of his shampoo.  
He puts his thumb behind your ear lobe, and you hear him swallow. Your breath quivers, and you hope he mistakes it for fear over anything else.

There’s a sharp pain, and you snap “Ouch!” But it hurts hardly a fraction as much as what you did last night. He fiddles for a moment, and it’s a little uncomfortable (though somehow, rather nice) and after another slight pang of pain, it’s done. 

When you open your eyes, you’re met with Bro’s shoulder as he cleans off your ear. You resist the urge to lean forward and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“How does it look?” You ask.

Bro sits back, and nods, impressed. “Pretty fucking good, if I do say so myself.” His lips quirk up, slightly. “And it didn’t hurt as much?”

“Kind of. But, yeah, it was better than when I did it myself.” You say.

“The Bro is always right.” He seems to study your face for a moment, and you’ll be damned if there isn’t the faintest flush appearing on his sharp, hollow cheeks. “You ever thought about piercing your lip?” He asks.

“Nu uh.” He lowers himself down onto your leg - not his full weight, though enough so seat of his jeans is pressed against your knee. If you shifted slightly, you’d be pressing into his balls, maybe the tip of his cock.

His thumb skirts across your bottom lip, his fingers tucked neatly beneath your chin. Every nerve in your lip seems to flutter. The touch rings through your veins and pushes your blood – you flush, your cock twitches.

“It’d look good.” He says. Your chest feels tight as he draws in a little closer – his face a stubble-ridden, weather-beaten version of your own. You can see his freckles. The shift of colour on his skin - he’s tanned lightly in some patches, burnt and flaking in others, pale where his shades sit. You forget how crinkled his eyes are, and how whiskery he is, sometimes.

You’re waiting for him to pull back. But he doesn’t. And boldly, you let your top lip fall upon his thumb, graze the tip of it with your teeth, brush it with your tongue.

He lets a sudden puff of air escape from his nose when you do.

“Dave.” He says, toneless. You draw the thumb into your mouth, and flicker your tongue, sucking slightly. His eyes stare down at your mouth, blazing, transfixed. 

His other hand pats the side of your face, and tenderly tweaks your new piercing. It stings in a way that make you cry out, it’s intense, and you shudder, but it’s not entirely unpleasant.

“They’re fun once they heal up.” He says. “Nipple ring used to be my favourite.” He’s muttering, the way he does when something aside from speaking has taken his interest. “Well. Second favourite.” He pulls his thumb from your mouth and smears saliva across your top lip, apparently admiring his handiwork.  
“This is the point of no return, Kid.” He tells you. You shrug. You feel you’ve passed the point of no return a few times before. This is not the first time you’ve ended up in a compromising position with your Brother – and though he’s usually run off by now, you can’t really make sexual tension go away just by pretending it isn’t there.  
“Fuck’s sake.” He says. You deliberately move your knee ever so slightly, and he grunts. 

You feel bold – far bolder than usual – and you reach out to his belt. Your fingers shake, and the metal of the ornate buckle chatters as you unfasten it.

You press your palm to the crotch of his jeans, and note that he isn’t hard. But you guess he’s a little too old to be hard from a little thumb sucking. He isn’t a teenage boy (he isn’t you.)

“I gotta warn you about something.” Bro says. You unbutton the front of his pants, and pull down the zipper, working the denim down his thick thighs. You hook your fingers into the soft cotton of his briefs.

“About what?” You ask.

“It’s my dick.” He says. You look at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Yeah?”

“It’s... Pierced.” He says. “Got a Prince Albert. A little boring but I couldn’t stand the healing time on anything else.” He looks somewhat embarrassed – rather odd for him, really.

“Cool.” You say. He seems to relax.

“I thought you might freak, or something.” Bro says, shaking his head at himself. You shake your head. There are a millions things you could say about why that wouldn’t make you freak, but you were always taught that actions speak louder than words.   
Slipping your hand down into his briefs, you take hold of his cock, and run your thumb up the shaft till you find the jewellery.   
Bro takes a deep breath, and gives a long, drawn out, sigh, and you can feel him twitching, coming to life in your palm.   
His cock is thick, and warm. It’s smooth to the touch, and Bro’s hips twitch gently toward you when you squeeze it. You slip your thumb through the loop of the ring, and pull. He moans then, it’s quiet, but it goes straight through you.  
You flick your head toward the floor, and he smirks, lying down on his back, spreading his legs wide. You creep between them, palms skidding up the rumbled thighs of his jeans, till they reach the waistband of his shorts. You hook in your fingers, and tug them down. He’s a little more than half hard now, and his dick bobs up, interested, when you free him from the confines of his underwear.

The jewellery runs through the head, and glistens in the sunlight, the pale silver a stark contrast to the red flush of the tip. You lean down, and hook your tongue through the ring, and pull. His hips flick, and his chest hollows with a puff of air.

You wet your lips and roll them over your teeth, before taking him into your mouth. You just suck the head, giving you a chance to twiddle the piercing with your tongue. You work his shaft with your hand, and it’s not long before Bro’s gloved palm meets the back of your head, fingers clutching at your hair. He pushes your head down, and you give up on the piercing, instead sucking, and working your tongue at the underside of his cock. He groans loudly and arches his back rubbing your cheek with his other hand.  
You hadn’t imagined him being quite so responsive. You can hear his toes curling into the carpet, and that makes you moan, softly, around him. He jerks his hips at that, and he’s lucky you’re good at this, because you’d have easily choked on him if you had some semblance of a gag reflex. Something which Bro notices a lack of, and apparently takes advantage of. He thrusts up into your mouth again, slipping himself down your throat.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He moans, and he shallowly pumps his hips, works your head for you. You let him fuck your throat, watching him intently.

Your own erecting is straining painfully against your jeans, and you doubt you’ll last much longer. With clumsy, shaking fingers you manage to pull it out of your pants, but when you feel the piercing knock the back of your throat, you’re gone. You barely pump your dick twice before you’re coming on the carpet, and the seat of Bro’s jeans.

Bro carries on thrusting, clever fingers winding gradually tighter in your hair, and low, almost pained, moans escaping him. He moans your name, and you respond by grabbing hold of his hips, and skirting your fingers over his hipbones. With a last few erratic jerks, and moans of your name he comes. It splashes the back of your throat, and gives you no choice but to swallow. He hisses when you spasm around him, milking the cum from his cock.

He slips out of you easily, and lets go of your hair. With a sigh, his head hits the floor with a clunk, and his cap falls off.

“Do I even want to know where you learned to take a dick like that?” He asks. You tuck your dick away, and crawl up beside him, flopping onto the floor.

“Probably not.” There’s a silence between you, and you can’t help but notice the furrow in Bro’s brow, the deep worry lines on his forehead.  
“So.” You say. “Can you pierce my dick for me too? Or will we have to go professional.”


End file.
